"Awake at last. Did you have a good sleep?"

Gasping, Lena Oxton opened her eyes, and stared out into the darkness. She couldn't move, she couldn't see, and as her senses returned to her, Lena felt pain shoot up her back as she shifted in her bonds. Her hands were manacled together and held in place above her head by a chain that passed through a hook on the ceiling, and her ankles were fastened to the floor in a similar fashion. Adding to her discomfort, her running gear had been replaced by her old operational uniform, which had clearly been pulled on and done up incorrectly. A brief jolt of panic passed through her as Lena realised she wasn't wearing her chronal accelerator, but as her eyes adjusted to the gloom she noticed that a metal container strapped to the floor next to her was emitting a faint blue glow. The room was vibrating gently, and through the walls she could hear the faint roar of engines. The former pilot could tell she was in the cargo hold of some kind of aircraft.

Silhouetted against the single lightbulb was a shadowy figure, slowly walking across the room towards her. Although Lena couldn't see their face, there was no mistaking the outline, or the accent.

"…You."

"Bien. You gave me quite the challenge the last time I came to visit. It seems I caught you with your guard down this time, no? Your girlfriend was caught equally unaware."

Widowmaker gestured towards an object on the edge of Lena's vision, hanging from ceiling restraints alongside her. It moved, and Lena heard a sudden intake of breath.

"…Lena? Where…"

Lena's heart jumped, and she struggled to shift into a position where she could see to her left side. The glow of the lightbulb revealed Emily, bedraggled but alive, restrained in a similar manner. Somehow, she had been dressed in her own clothes, a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt that had to have been taken from the apartment.

"Emily! It's me, I'm right here. Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. Really." Emily looked around, taking in the dimly lit cargo hold. "Where are we?"

"Don't worry your pretty little head. You're alive, and will remain alive for as long as you continue to do as I say." Widowmaker pulled a silenced pistol from behind her back, slipping the magazine out and inspecting it. "Stunner shells. You would have used them yourself, no? Your girlfriend was out before she hit the floor."

Lena winced as a fresh wave of pain flowed through the bruises on her back. Seeing this, the assassin put a hand to her mouth in mock concern. "Mon dieu, I forgot they had a minimum safe distance. I hope they didn't hurt too much."

"Tosser."

The ship jolted suddenly, causing the light in the hold to flicker and die for a few seconds. When it returned, Widowmaker was standing very close to Emily. The latter recoiled, shying away as if expecting the assassin to strike her, but Widowmaker only chuckled. The ship rocked again, and she hooked her wrist-mounted grappling hook into the ceiling for balance.

"We will be landing shortly. We've made good time, only seven hours from London to New Mexico."

New Mexico? Lena's thoughts were drowned out by the thunder of the engines as the ship suddenly slowed for landing, and the struts extended from somewhere beneath her feet.

The rear ramp of the ship slowly wound down, opening out onto total darkness. Widowmaker stepped back as three masked men in red uniforms entered and began to unbolt Lena and Emily's restraints from the floor. As they did, the door at the far end of the hold opened, and heavy footsteps approached from outside. She hardly needed to turn her head to see who they belonged to, as a distinctive voice echoed through the enclosed space.

"Widowmaker. Get down to the launch site and tell them we've got company."

The assassin nodded, scooped up her rifle, and stepped out into the night, disappearing into the darkness with a small smirk still playing on her lips.

Lena watched as a familiar figure stalked towards her from out of the gloom. Tall, broad shouldered, and clothed from head to toe in black, save for his bone-white mask. When he spoke, it was in a hoarse growl that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

"Lena Oxton. Welcome to New Mexico."

Lena put on her best defiant sneer. "You wanker. I guess seeing Overwatch wiped out isn't enough for you. Tell you what, if it's a fight you're after, let me out of these chains and I'll give it to you!"

"Enough."

Without warning, a gloved hand shot out and wrapped around Lena's throat. Black mist coiled from the sockets of Reaper's mask, and the patches of Lena's skin caught under his glove suddenly felt painfully cold. The restraints jangled as she struggled to pull away from his grip.

"It would be this easy, Tracer." The mask was right next to her ear, and his voice had dropped to a sinister hum. "It will be this easy, when the time comes. Right now, however…I need you alive."

Lena gasped as she felt a strange crawling sensation across her body. Looking down, she saw that a cloud of black mist was slowly closing around her midriff. As it passed across her injured back, however, the pain began to ebb, and in seconds the bruising had turned completely numb. The tendrils of mist retreated, and Reaper pulled his hand away. The Talon operatives removed the last of the restraints, and Lena and Emily dropped to the floor. One man seized each prisoner and dragged them from the ship, with the third following after them holding the chronal accelerator.

With Reaper leading the way, the group marched out of the pool of light cast by the ship's landing lights, and out into the night. The ship, an angular red craft that Lena recognised from that night in London, had landed on the top of a low mesa, accessible from the desert below by a narrow track made of crumbling asphalt. After a few minutes spent stumbling through the sand, the rock formations up ahead began to glow, as if artificially lit. Soon, a large flat area came into view, surrounded by banks of floodlights.

Jutting out from the sand ahead of them was a tall concrete pillar, then another, and soon the group was picking their way through a maze of broken building supports. To Lena, it was as if they were walking through the empty shell of a destroyed city. Here and there, tents and supply crates marked with the Talon insignia were visible, guarded by yet more masked operatives. Then the terrain dipped sharply, and they began to make their way down a path into a large pit.

At the centre of the pit, perched atop a massive network of steel scaffolding, was a curious looking pod, white and bulging all over with complex machinery. Wires and hoses dangled from every inch of the object, connected to banks of machinery mounted at various points around the rim of the crater. People scurried back and forth around it, manipulating equipment and attaching wires, and on the path up ahead Lena could see a lone figure shouting orders at the workers. As the group got closer, she heard a voice ringing out over the desert wind.

"Darse prisa! Don't leave it unplugged, the energy cells need constant cooling!"

The speaker was a young woman, dressed in a form-fitting purple body glove that left no skin showing below the neck, and a heavy black coat over the top. Her head was partially shaved, revealing a grid of what appeared to be cybernetic implants across her scalp. Everything, from the trim of her jacket to the wiring on the back of her gloves, seemed to pulse with purple light, as if it was blood flowing through artificial veins. Hearing their approach, she turned away from the Talon operatives she had been directing, and stared Reaper down with an exasperated glare.

"You're late. We've been in position for hours now."

"Sombra, report."

Sombra folded her arms and sighed. "Like I said, we're as ready as we can be until we get those extra parts. Once we have them, and the pod is fuelled up, we can get moving as soon as you like." She looked up, noticing the chronal accelerator slung over the shoulder of one of the Talon operatives. "Is that…"

"…the chronal accelerator, yes. Fully intact. Will that be all you need?"

Sombra looked past Lena and caught sight of Emily. "Who's this? You never said anything about civilians."

Reaper did not hesitate. "She's our security policy. Your fee has been considerably increased."

Sombra paused, her eyes shifting from the two prisoners to the machine in the centre of the pit.

"Well? Will it still work?"

"I'm not an expert in this stuff, I just followed the plans I was given. As far as I know, even they never got it working properly. I need to prep the new equipment first."

"I will not tolerate another failed mission, Sombra. Not after Volskaya." Reaper turned sharply on his heel and strode away. Sombra muttered something under her breath, her eyes briefly meeting Lena's, before she too walked away in the direction of a large tent at the edge of the site, leaving Lena and Emily with Widowmaker and the three Talon operatives.

"You. Take our guest to the central barracks and lock her up. I'll take our new pilot from here."